


Thing

by Miniatures



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: (It's Bill though), M/M, POV Second Person, Pre-Series, Unrequited Love, mild sexual references, would-be demonic possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 01:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6032602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miniatures/pseuds/Miniatures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanford wants Bill, and Bill just wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thing

Humans are different now, and he teaches you this.

You have not been here in millennia, and you have forgotten how they play. When you wore foxskin and feather you mimicked their trueform gods, and revealed yourself to be of a different shape when the game was up. But he wants _you_ , and he calls _you_ , and _you_ are the answer, as yourself. It is easier to disguise what you want when you are expected, invited, you find.

 _Some humans understand these things_ , he tells you. _I am one of them_.

You long, in that same old way, to become solid through him. A body that _knows_ , that _understands_. You want to claw your way into his core, flex his fingers with a thought, know every ache and pleasure of his flesh. That is your one true desire, after all. To consume—minds, bodies, worlds.

He shakes your hand, and his skin envelops your static like a glove.

He shows you his world, and it envelops you too. This planet of rutting and rotting animals, people, places, and things. You say, as a joke, that of all the nouns that last is the one you most resemble. The one that waits, the one that works, the one that can never die because it is not alive. He laughs, and doesn’t realize.

Meanwhile, you survey the world you will consume, and he adores you. You have the answer, you _are_ the answer, you are proof of what he seeks. He goes dewy-eyed and laughs at your jokes. He adores you, and you did nothing but exist. And it amuses you, unnerves you. It’s new, and you’re intrigued.

You trace the skin you would subsume with static. He wants it, wants to touch you. You indulge him because it pleases you to watch him shiver. Because you covet his flesh, because you covet him.

He tells you he wants you. You want to tell him no, not now, I’m not finished with you yet. But there’s no good way to clarify what you meant by _I want to be inside you_ when the truth would send him running. You need permission, and right now he’ll only give it for one kind of union.

You set out to take another vessel, but there are no bites at your line. Or perhaps you aren’t casting true, because no bodies appeal. None are right. None are yours in the same way his is yours. You want him—to have, to know, to use. You want to wear him while the world is engulfed, to be devoured as him and come alive again as yourself. It is the only intimacy you know, and you would afford it to him. You would even bring his brain along to watch.

Of course, you tell him you tried. Of course, he believes you. You remind him that you are a thing, and objectophilia isn’t his.

He says it could be, and you laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this a while ago, never posted it, and promptly forgot about it. But hey, now that the series is over, have some weird human/space demon not-quite slash. 
> 
> (Also, hey, my second-person debut. ... I don't know why, either, it just begged to be written this way. Blame Bill.)


End file.
